PS 

3521 

K615D 


Depths  and 
Shallows 


••by 


Sally  Bruce  Kinsolving 

The  NORMAN,  REMINGTON  CO. 
I   9  z   I 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


DEPTHS  and  SHALLOWS 


DEPTHS  and  SHALLOWS 


to 


SALLY   BRUCE   KINSOLVING 


BALTIMORE 

THE  NORMAN,  REMINGTON  CO. 
MDCCCCXXI 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY 
THE  NORMAN,  REMINGTON  CO. 


Printed  in  the  Jjmtfetf.  fcifateabf  America 


To 
A.  B.  K. 


4C2G42 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


PHAROS     .            .            .            .            .  .1 

I  HAVE  KNOWN  LOVE         ...  2 

SHELL-SHOCK      .            .            .            .  .3 

WAKING         ....              .  4 

I  OFTEN  THINK  OF  HELEN       .            .  .5 

A  SINGLE  STAR         ....  6 

A  CATACOMB       .            .            .            .  .7 

DAY  AND  NIGHT       ....  9 

SILK  STOCKINGS              .            .            .  .10 

INTROSPECTION         .            .            .            .  n 

A  PLEA     .  .  ...      12 

EXPERIENCE              ....  13 

APRIL  I    .            .            .            .            .  .14 

II 15 

III 16 

You  NEVER  KNEW              ...  17 

NIGHT  AND  MORNING    .            .            .  .18 

REQUIEM        .            .            .            .            .  19 

TWILIGHT            .            .            .            .  .21 

1791-1921       .....  22 

EVENING              .            .            .            .  23 

REGRET          .....  24 

LUCINDA  LEE      .            .            .            .  .        25 

DAY  DREAMS            .            .            .            .  .     26 
MY  HEART  Is  STEEPED  IN  BEAUTY            .         28 

WHILE  OTHERS  WAKED       .            .  .29 

MY  CITY              .            .            .            .  .30 


Contents 


PAGE 


SIMILITUDE    .            .            .            .  .           31 

LOVE  ASKS  NAUGHT      .  .     32 

ENCHANTMENT          .  33 

FROM  MY  WINDOW       .           .           .  -34 

MEETING       .....  35 

NOCTURNE       _  .           .           .           .  36 

WORDS           ....  ^           37 

DUSK       .           .           .*          .          ^  -38 

THE  QUEST    .....  39 

PAN-PlPES               .                .                .                .  4! 

WAITING        .  •         .           .           .  .           42 

CAPRICE  .           .           .           .           .  -43 

MOONLIGHT  .....  44 

ON  THE  DOCK    .            .            .            .  -45 

SURGE            .....  47 

REVERIE  .           .           .           .           .  48 

SONG              .           .           .           .  .           49 

THE  MIDNIGHT  MOON  .            .            ;  -5° 

UNTRAMMELLED       .           .           .  .           51 

ESCAPE     .           .           .           .           .  .52 

A  MOOD         .                                  .  53 

A  PROTEST          .           .                      .  -54 

IMPRESSION   .                                  •  •           55 

SPIRIT  WINDS      .           .           .           .  -57 

ToJ.  L.  W.,JR.       .           .  .58 

WHEN  You  ARE  TIRED  OF  THE  DAY  .     59 

BEYOND  THE  CITY  LIGHTS  60 


Contents 


PAGE 


UNDERTOW          .  .            .            .            .61 

THE  WHITE  LILAC  ....           63 

RETROSPECT        .  .            .     64 

WINTER  NIGHT  ....           65 

COMPENSATION    .  ...     66 

BEAUTY          .  .            .           67 


PHAROS 

AX7HETHER  a  waning  moon 

In  the  quiet  night, 
Offering  up 
Her  golden  cup 

Of  beauty  in  the  hushed,  warm  dark 
To  the  rhythm  of  waves  breaking, 
And  small  voices 
In  low  grasses 
Softly  whispering; 
Or  a  deed  of  pity 
In  a  squalid  city 
Street  at  noon — 
Moments  of  insight 
Born  of  these 

Are  harbingers  of  safety  and  of  peace: 
As  unto  mariners  who  embark 
At  length  to  sail 

Through  mist  and  fog,  through  storm  and  gale, 
Over  unfamiliar  seas, 
To  lands  far-off,  unknown,  .  .  . 
Lights  that  flash  suddenly 
And  are  gone. 


I   HAVE  KNOWN  LOVE 

T  HAVE  known  love 

In  all  its  depth  and  height, 
Its  quick  surprise  at  morning, 
Its  wonder  in  the  night. 
I  have  felt  beauty  since  I  was  a  child 
In  dawn-steeped  gardens 
Or  in  woodlands  deep  and  wild. 
I  have  sought  truth 
And  found  it  on  my  way; 
Truth,  beauty,  love, — these  cannot  end  with  day. 


SHELL-SHOCK 

T  TPON  a  narrow  cot  we  found  him  lying 

And  suddenly  we  knew  that  he  was  dying. 

"There  are  men  all  round  about  me  here,"  he 

'said, 

"Who  plot  and  strive  and  seek  to  have  me 

dead. 

"Be  still  and  I  will  whisper  now  to  one 
And  you  will  hear  him  whistle  back  to  me." 
Outside  we  heard  the  shrieking  March  wind  groan. 
His  eyes  flashed  triumph:  "Listen,  that  is  he." 


3  I 


WAKING 

out  of  deep  sleep, 
In  the  dark  I  am  aware 
Of  life,  it  seems  to  stare 
Me  in  the  face 
With  a  horrible  grimace, 
And  envelope  me 
With  enshrouding  mystery: 
But  when  I  quickly 
Lift  my  spirit  up  in  prayer, 
As  if  a  child  should  seek  its  mother,  there 
Within  her  arms 
To  be  quieted  of  vague  alarms, 
I  am  enfolded  in  such  peace 
As  rests  upon  the  sea 
When  the  winds  cease. 


u 


I  OFTEN  THINK  OF  HELEN 

T  OFTEN  think  of  Helen, 

Iseult  and  Guinevere, 
Of  Francesca  and  of  Heloise 
And  others  dead  and  fair. 
Did  love,  too,  make  them  tremble. 
And  did  it  make  them  wise, 
And  did  their  cup 
Of  love  spring  up 
With  willing  sacrifice? 


A  SINGLE  STAR 

A   SINGLE  star  of  pallid  ray 

Alone  appearing  to  our  sight 
In  isolated  beauty,  may 
Infuse  into  the  soul  with  sudden  might 
The  wonder  of  the  new  resplendent  day, 
The  manifold  wide  mystery  of  night. 


6| 


A  CATACOMB 

/^\UT  of  the  noonday  sunlit  air 

Groped  a  weary  traveller 
Led  by  monk  in  garb  of  brown, 
With  uncertain  steps  adown 
A  lengthy,  winding  stair 
Into  subterranean  halls. 
A  candle  near  the  old  monk's  hood 
Sputtered,  while  beside  them  stood 
Upright,  caved,  entombing  walls, 
Of  gruesome  aspect  which  appalls, 
Yet  with  mystery  enthralls 
A  tired  wanderer. 
Laid  in  dust  on  caved  shelf 
With  no  bone  left  stark  to  stare, 
Gleaming  like  a  miser's  pelf 
Under  the  flickering  candle,  there 
Shone  a  woman's  auburn  hair  .... 
She  was  young,  and  was  she  fair? 
Was  she  tall  and  iris-white 
In  the  soft  Italian  night? 
Had  she  hyacinthine  eyes, 
Thoughtful,  deep,  madonna-wise 


7l 


A  Catacomb 

Like  those  framed  in  churches  where 
Tapers  on  high  altars  flare? 
What  was  the  destiny  that  flung 
Her  in  that  ageless,  open  tomb, 
Imprisoned  in  such  narrow  gloom? 
Was  she  from  proud  nobles  sprung? 
Did  imperious,  pagan  emperor, 
Caught  by  glint  of  auburn  tress 
Loose  upon  her  Roman  dress, 
Strive  to  foist  his  will  upon  her, 
While  within  her  there  uprose 
A  mystic  flame  all  lambent  white 
In  the  soft  Italian  night; 
And  insistent,  then  she  chose 
The  bold  arena,  gaping  wide, 
That  forever  she  might  be 
The  bride 
Of  endless  purity? 


DAY  AND   NIGHT 

V\/'HEN  into  depths  of  clear,  translucent  blue, 

At  noon  we  gaze, 

The  sun  seems  made  to  shine  for  you 
And  me  through  never-ending  days. 

But  when  in  star-strewn  night  I  stand  alone 
With  eager,  searching,  upturned  face, 
I  am  an  atom  by  the  swift  winds  blown 
Through  vast,  illimitable  space. 


SILK  STOCKINGS 

J  WAS  a  child  of  five 

And  sitting  on  a  bed 
On  a  sleepy  afternoon 
When  I  first  heard  of  the  dead. 
I  was  putting  on  my  stockings, 
Which  were  silken,  gold  and  red. 
They  had  come  from  California, 
My  colored  mammy  said. 
Then  she  whispered  to  me  softly, 

"Child,  your  grandmother  is  dead." 
She  had  given  me  the  stockings 
W7hich  were  silken,  gold  and  red. 


10 


INTROSPECTION 


VX7HENCE  this  poignant  keen  unrest — 

Is  it  soul  of  the  east  or  urge  of  the  west  ? 
Is  it  heaven  or  is  it  hell? 
I  do  not  know,  I  cannot  tell. 

A  withering  torch  or  a  beckoning  flame? 
A  demon's  thrall  in  battle  strife 
Or  the  call  of  a  saint  in  God's  own  name — 
A  curse  of  death  or  a  voice  of  life? 


A   PLEA 

CjOME  love  best  long,  leafy  lanes,  thick 

Overhead,  and  dewy  grass  bedecked  with 

strawberries; 

Others,  roses,  like  lovers  climbing 
To  the  windows  of  sweet  girls.  .  .  . 
But  give  me  instead,  O  April, 
Sloping  hills  spotted  with  dandelions, 
And  orchards  laden 
With  pale,  blossoming  beauty; 
Red  maple  buds  against  the  wide  sky, 
Tawny  and  grey  leaflets  throbbing  into  life, 
The  sudden  green  of  the  willow, 
A  patch  of  emerald  wheat, 
Forsythias  in  a  blaze  of  glory, 
And  strong  winds  blowing  white  clouds 
Athwart  great  gaps  of  blue. 


EXPERIENCE 

had  reached 


The  topmost  stair 
Of  life. 

Yet,  as  she  looked  around, 
So  lightly  poised  in  air, 
She  had  no  otherwhere 
Togo, 

And  she  knew 
She  must  descend  unto 
The  ground. 
There, 

To  her  astonishment,  she  found 
Beneath  her  feet 

All  things  that  she  held  most  sweet; 
For  guarded  safely  on  the  earth 
Are  treasures  of  the  greatest  worth, 
That  to  every  woman  are 
Far  dearer 
Than  the  glitter 
Of  a  star. 


APRIL 
I 

A  I  HHE  lamps  of  spring  are  shining 

On  every  windy  hill; 
Her  troth  is  newly  plighted 
In  gold  of  daffodil. 

To  deck  her  for  her  bridal 

The  orchards  spread  their  bloom; 
With  gifts  of  shimmering  silver 

The  mountain  brooklets  come. 

And  when  her  lover  hastens 
To  greet  her  with  delight, 

He  will  find  her  veiled  in  moonbeams 
Some  witching  April  night. 


II 


/^  OLD  and  green  is  April's  dress 

As  forth  she  fares  in  loveliness 
Across  the  meads  of  spring. 
Scarfs  of  silver  mist  she  trails, 
Sombre  boughs  in  gauze  she  veils, 
Over  hills  and  deep  in  dales 
Violets  loosely  scattering. 


Ill 

miserly  and  old, 
His  priceless  treasure  guards 
within  the  hold 
Of  hidden  coffers; 
But  with  what  sudden  largess 
Does  the  spring 
To  wanton  airs 
Her  golden  bounty  fling ! 


16 


YOU  NEVER   KNEW 

'VTDU  never  knew  my  heart 

Was  crying  out  with  pain 
Like  a  curlew  calling 
In  the  cold,  spring  rain. 

You  never  knew  my  soul, 

Like  a  wild  sea  bird, 
Went  roaming  with  the  winds 

That  the  bell  buoy  heard. 

You  never  knew  my  spirit 
From  pain  first  felt  surcease, 

When  crushed  within  your  arms 
At  last  I  found  peace. 


NIGHT  AND   MORNING 

V\7"HEN  night  with  certain  tread  her  way  is 

making, 

She  brings  to  us  her  old  attendant  care, 
But  there's  a  sorrow  with  the  morning's  waking 
That  is  akin  to  utter,  stark  despair. 


18 


REQUIEM 

pJYACINTHS  and  daffodils 

Fringing  the  grass 
Round  the  white  crosses 
As  we  pass. 

Red  buds  and  willow  trees 

Painting  the  sky 
Where  the  thin  cloud  veils 

Float  on  high. 

Song-birds  twittering 

In  their  delight, — 
Drooping  black  figures 

Draped  like  night: 

While  men  lower 

Into  red  clay 
Fragile  pale  beauty 

At  close  of  dav. 


Requiem 

But  hearken,  Christian, 

Do  not  weep; 
Those  we  are  leaving 

Are  robed  in  sleep. 

See  the  earth  waken 
Spring  after  spring 

The  dead  will  arise 
For  Christ  is  King. 


20  j 


TWILIGHT 

T  HAVE  left  the  woods  behind  me 

With  all  their  silver  song 
And  rain-wet 

Fragrance.   The  evening  bells 
Are  pealing  low  along 
My  way.   Reluctantly 
I  turn  my  face  toward  the  city's  roar, 
For  soon  I  shall  forget 
That  peace  dwells 
At  her  door. 


1791-1921 

'  I  HHE  house  I  live  in  once  stood  near 

A  leafy,  winding,  shady  lane, 
Where  lilacs  and  sea-scented  air 
Were  woven  into  April  rain: 

Though  now  within  a  city  street 
Determined  trolleys  pass  its  door, 

And  motors  with  insistent  beat 

Stride  blatantly  with  shriek  or  roar: 

Where  gay  attire  applauds  the  spring 
And  May  is  marked  by  berry  criers, 

While  gas  wells  noxious  odors  fling 
In  air  begrimed  by  factory  fires. 


f  22 


EVENING 

T71OLET  boles  of  beeches 

In  the  late  sunlight, 
Shadows  lengthening  across 
The  golden  hill; 
Little  birds  softly  fluting 
Their  songs  of  night, 
Leaves  forbearing  to  whisper, 
Breathless,  still; 
Deep  is  the  draught  of  beauty, 
Drink,  oh  drink  at  your  will. 


REGRET 

'  I  HHE  beauty  I  have  left  unsung 

Comes  back  to  sting  me  now  with  pain, 
As  if  pearls  too  lightly  strung 
Had  slipped  into  the  sea  again. 

O  life,  could  you  but  give  to  me 
The  blossoms  of  forgotten  springs, 

And  all  delight  I've  burned  to  see 
Long  borne  away  on  swallows'  wings. 


[24 


LUCINDA  LEE 

TLTER  eyes  are  like  grape  hyacinths 

The  market  woman  sells, 
Her  lips  are  threads  of  coral 
That  grow  among  sea-shells. 

Her  moods  are  as  the  colors 

That  flit  upon  the  sea, 
Her  mind  with  depths  and  shallows 

Is  compact  of  poetry. 

But  when  her  little  white  arms 
Around  my  neck  entwine, 

I  know  it  is  her  love 

That  makes  her  only  mine. 


I'S 


DAY  DREAMS 

V\7HEN  on  a  city  street,  and  listening 
To  the  English  sparrows  squawk 
Their  drab  and  carking  care, 
My  spirit  runs  away 
To  the  succulent  May 
Meadows,  where 
Musical  birds  are  singing, 
Delirious  with  joy. 
There 

I  strive  to  tell 

Whether  it  is  wild-rose,  grape  or  honeysuckle 
That  stabs  me 

With  indefinable  fragrances  .... 
And  when 
Again  in  the  city, 
I  look  up  at  telegraph  poles, 
I  shut  my  eyes  and  see 
Tall  trees  waving  their  branches — 
Oaks  and  beeches  and  lindens — 
And  hear  them  whispering 
Secrets  of  old  time, 

When  Indian  maidens,  lithe  and  supple 
As  the  arrows  their  lovers  sped 


Day  Dreams 

At  the  wild  game,  found 

Tryst  where  bracken,  moss  and  fern  are  spread 

In  the  warm  and  passionate  beauty 

Of  the  May  days  .... 

And  then, 

When  the  dust  in  city  byways 

Chokes  me,  and  its  grime 

Besoils  my  ringers,  I  hear  the  sound 

Of  waters  trickling 

From  streams  that  startle 

The  still  rocks  of  deep  glens, 

And  run  away  mockingly, 

Refusing  to  be 

Caught  or  held  or  bound. 


27 


MY  HEART  IS  STEEPED  IN  BEAUTY 

MY  heart  is  steeped  in  beauty, 

For  I  have  known  pain, 
And  cypress  trees  and  moonlight  are 
Attendant  in  her  train. 

I  watch  the  children  dancing 

Upon  a  sunlit  hill, 
But  they  cannot  feel  beauty 

Approaching  them  until 

Their  heads  are  bowed  with  weeping 

Like  lilies  in  the  rain  .... 
My  heart  is  steeped  in  beauty, 

For  I  have  known  pain. 


28 


WHILE  OTHERS   WAKED 


others  waked  I  slept,  — 
Now  while  they  sleep  I  sing 
Alone  in  the  night 

To  my  heart's  comforting. 

I  sing  of  men  in  cities 

And  lonely  ships  at  sea, 
With  only  white  waves 

To  bear  them  company. 

I  sing  of  moonlit  gardens 

And  silent  fields  of  dew, 
But  oh,  by  night  as  in  the  day, 

I  chiefly  sing  of  you. 


29 


MY  CITY 

T  NEVER  dreamed  that  I  could  sing 

Until  I  came  to  live  in  you; 

What  was  it  that  could  sharply  sting 

My  silence  into  shape  and  hue? 

I  thought  that  I  had  found  content 
In  love  and  laughter,  work  and  play; 

But  April  after  April  went, 

And  left  me  brick-bound  day  by  day. 

But  you  are  girdled  with  the  spring, 
And  over  your  roofs  on  summer  nights, 

Beauty,  while  her  censers  swing, 

Blends  her  perfumes  with  your  lights. 


SIMILITUDE 

T  THINK 

Of  a  poet 

As  of  a  reed  by  a  river's  brink, 
Shaken  with  each  wind  that  blows, 
Sharing  the  secret 
Of  wild  iris  or  of  meadow  rose, 
Trembling  to  the  singing  of  a  bird 
When  before  dawn  but  one  alone  has  stirred; 
Startled  to  see 
The  shrunken  yellow  moon 
Rising  above  the  near 
Rim 

Of  the  world,  in  the  clear 
Blue  night; 
Or  the  first  stripe 
Of  red 

Staining  the  dim, 

Drab  east  before  the  morning's  light,  .  .  . 
Saturate  with  beauty, 
Then  vibrant  with  music, 
As  a  shepherd's  pipe. 


LOVE  ASKS  NAUGHT 

T    OVE  asks  naught  when  it  is  love 

But  the  flame  of  its  own  fire, 
All  content  itself  to  prove,  .  .  . 
Hurt  with  infinite  desire: 

Thus  the  rainbow  to  the  sea, 
Mirrored  in  a  depth  of  blue, 

Burning  with  an  endless  beauty 
In  its  irridescent  hue. 


ENCHANTMENT 

TSLAND  of  mystery 

And  dreams, 
Set  in  a  western  sea, 
My  spirit  leaps  too  sluggardly 
To  catch  the  sudden  gleams 
Of  your  swift  moods,  that  flee 
With  all  the  winds  that  blow; 
For  but  an  hour  ago 
You  were  a  place  of  light, 
With  tangled  blooms  of  blackberry 
Spreading  their  veils  of  white  .... 
And  now  the  fog  drifts  quickly 
Across  the  fields  of  night, 
While  myriad  golden  fireflies, 
Darting  their  eerie  beams, 
Give  to  me  the  fancy 
That  you  are  a  haunt  of  fay, 
Until  I  hear  in  rise 
And  fall  the  dashing  of  the  spray. 


33 


FROM   MY  WINDOW 

A   GENTLE  rustle 
"     That  I  hear, 
Tells  me  lightly 
Trees  are  near; 
Not  as  in  a  forest, 
Tall 

And  stately, 
But  familiar,  small, 
Where  a  bird 
May  sit  sedately, 
Snugly  hidden  in  her  nest, 
While  outside  with  painted  wings, 
Boldly  her  little  lover  sings 
Unto  her  a  madrigal. 
Then  I,  too,  keep 
Early  vigil 
While  others  still 
Are  fast  asleep, 

And  sing,  unheard,  a  roundelay, 
To  the  fair  returning  day. 


34 


MEETING 

SOME  meet  within  walled  gardens 
And  others  on  a  lea; 
But  you  and  I  within  the  mind 
Discover  unity. 

I  would  not  have  you  touch  my  hand, 

Or  faithless  be 
To  any  loyalty. 

I  am  content  to  find  you  where 

The  morning  sunlight  paints  the  sea, 

Or  high  up  in  the  evening  air 
The  new  moon  lifts  her  purity. 


35 


NOCTURNE 

'  I  HHE  moon  pours  out  a  silver  stream 

Across  my  quiet  room  to-night; 
Ah,  would  that  I  could  ever  dream 
Within  her  chambers  of  delight. 
Never  to  see  the  sun  again, 
Or  gaudy  color  night  defies, 
But  to  walk  in  gardens  where 
In  the  fragrant,  moonlit  air 
White  blossoms  shed  their  secrecies. 
And  though  no  nightingale  might  tell 
Her  old-world  passion  or  her  pain, 
I  know  that  in  my  heart  would  swell 
The  minor  chords  of  symphonies, 
Making  the  argent  air  resound 
With  miracle  of  silver  sound 
In  long-remembered  ecstasies. 


36] 


WORDS 

COMETIMES,  like  the  wind 

In  the  trees, 

With  such  a  sudden  gust 
The  words  come,  that  I  must 
Hasten  to  write  them  down, 
Lest  they 
Be  blown  away. 

Again  leisurely,  half  tauntingly, 
They  come  and  go, 
As  a  ball 

Tossed  to  and  fro 
Lightly  on  a  summer's  day  .  .  .  . 
And  then— 
Not  a  sound  I  hear, 
And  suddenly  I  fear 
That  I  may 
Never  again, 
Even  falteringly, 
Say  the  things  I  long  to  say. 


37 


DUSK 

A   TIMID  little  silver  moon 
Was  sailing  forth  abreast 
The  broken  waves  of  fleecy  cloud 
Upon  the  purple  west; 
While  you  and  I  within 
A  fragile  skiff  afloat, 
Were  listening  to  the  music 
The  water-spirits  made, 
With  their  lapping,  lapping,  lapping 
On  the  surface  of  our  boat, 
And  our  feathered  oars  were  dripping 
As  we  drifted,  and  they  played. 

But  soon  the  artist  night 
Had  stained  the  sky  with  black, 
And  turned  the  moon  from  silver  into  gold; 
Yet  slowly  moving  homeward 
Upon  her  gleaming  track 
We  were  loath  to  leave  the  seas, 
And  the  quiet,  dreamy  music 
The  water-spirits  made, 
With  their  lapping,  lapping,  lapping, 
For  behind  the  inky  trees 
The  golden  moon  was  slipping, 
And  in  the  dusky  shallows  still  the  water- 
spirits  played. 

[38] 


THE  QUEST 

S~\  SILENT,  white,  high-masted  ship, 

How  quietly  you  lie 
At  anchor,  with  your  limp  sails  hung 
Against  the  soft  grey  sky; 
And  lightly  as  the  fall 
Of  a  long  forgotten  snow, 
Returning  to  the  mind  in  dream. 
Calm,  immovable  you  seem, 
And  can  it  be 
That  you  again 
Will  heavily 
Heave  to  and  fro 
Storm-tossed  upon  a  distant  sea? 
And  will  you  touch  at  ports  where 
Tempting  fruits  hang  low, 

Within  the  bronze-hued  grasp  of  indolent  men, 
While  in  the  moist,  scented  air, 
Brilliant  birds  fluant  their  plumes 
Amid  the  hot,  red 
Tropic  blooms 

That  stain  the  dark  of  forest  glooms, 
Thick-tangled  overhead? 
Then  you  will  fill  your  hold, 
Empty,  clean-gutted,  lean, 
With  luscious  freight  of  shining  gold, 
And  coffees,  and  rare  spices, 

[39] 


Whose  aromatic  smell 

The  northern  sense  entices; 

While  through  the  masts  of  swaying  ships 

Come  beckoning  tones  from  vermeil  lips 

Of  the  dark-eyed  girls  who  dwell 

Where  southern  seas  still  cast  their  spell  .  .  . 

But  lo,  what  happens  as  I  speak — 

The  light  wind  fills  your  sails  again, 

Now  hurry  fore  and  aft  your  men; 

Your  anchors  lift,  your  taut  ropes  creak, 

Your  unleashed  prow  strains  forth  with  zest, 

Driven  by  the  compelling  west; 

While  you  once  more  unfettered,  free, 

Proudly  ride  the  welcoming  sea, 

And  round  the  cape,  with  sails  full-blown, 

To  new  adventure  you  are  gone. 


40 


PAN-PIPES 

T  HAVE  sometimes  felt  in  forests 

When  the  dank  earth  strong  with  mould 
Seized  my  spirit  like  a  lover, 
And  gripped  me  with  its  hold, 
I  would  gladly  lay  my  body 
In  the  warm,  sweet-scented  ground, 
To  be  wrapped  around  with  fern  fronds 
And  with  tangled  violets  bound. 


[41] 


WAITING 

,  the  agony 

Of  women 
Living  near  the  sea, 
Watching  at  home 
For  those  who  do  not  come, 
With  only 
Mystery 
And  silence 
To  bear  them  company. 


CAPRICE 

a  wanton  thing  your  heart  is,  fleeing 
Love  and  his  swift  shadow, 
Like  a  sunbeam  in  a  meadow, 
While  soft  clouds  are  blowing. 

But  someday  you  will  turn  demurely, 

When  he  commands  you, 
And  like  a  white  flower  limp  with  dew, 

Within  his  hold  will  rest  securely. 


43 


MOONLIGHT 

V\/'HAT  magical  mystery  of  light  is  here, 

Touching  every  leaf  and  blade 
With  silver,  save  where 
The  blackened  shade 
Paints  the  deep  glade? 
It  can  change 
All 

That  is  familiar, 
Even  commonplace, 
Into  what  is  beautiful  and  strange. 
The  bare,  white  face 
Of  the  town  hall 
Now  wears  a  semblance 
As  of  marble  made, 
And  one  may  fancy 
That  one  sees 
A  staid 
And  stately 

Chateau  rising  between  tall  trees, 
Within  a  land  of  fleur-de-lys  .... 
Then  it  washes  out  the  heavens 
With  such  glory, 

That  only  stars  of  ancient  rhyme  or  story 
Dare  to  shine  within  its  presence, 
And  now  meekly 
They  surrender 
All  their  sovereignty 
To  unwonted  splendor. 

[44] 


ON  THE   DOCK 

^  I AHE  noonday  water 

-•-       Like  green  and  slippery 
Serpents,  lay  coiled  around 
The  high-piled  dock. 
Within  the  dingy 
Warehouse  there 
Was  not  a  sound 
Of  human  voice,  but  stacks 
Of  dirty,  printed  sacks 
Of  winter  food 
For  island  cattle 
Now  grazing  sleepily 
Upon  velvet  downs. 
Outside  were  orange-painted  kegs 
Emptied  of  melliflous  frozen  cream, 
Walled  like  tropic  fruit 
In  gaudy  color 
Against  the  sea. 

Three  men  nearby  were  lounging 
Lazily 

Upon  a  coal  barge,  blowing 
Their  rings  of  smoke 
Toward  the  sun. 
Small  boys  with  dangling 
Feet  were  sitting 
On  the  dock  and  poking  fun 
At  daring  gulls,  that 


45 


On  the  Dock 

With  sudden  swerve 

And  avid  leap,  were  plunging 

Downward,  dragging 

Little  fish  into 

The  upper  air; 

Or  watching  silently 

Until  some  home  returning  ship 

Should  boldly  rip 

The  wrinkled  satin 

Of  the  harbor  sea. 


[46] 


SURGE 

TNCOMING  waves  now  stripe  the  sea 

Along  the  gently  sloping  beach; 
I  watch  them  as  they  melt  away, 
Each  quickly  overtaking  each. 

Thus  with  the  years  of  human  life, 
That  in  such  quick  succession  send 

A  little  froth,  tumult  and  strife, 

Love,  sorrow,  peace,  .  .  .  and  then  the  end. 


47 


REVERIE 

"V/fY  purple  hills,  do  you 

Still  sharply  cut  the  pale  goldskies 
At  evening  into 

The  jagged  line  of  amaranth  hue 
That  I  once  loved?  And  are  the  quiet  lakes  yet 
Nestled  at  your  feet, 

While  in  the  darkened  forest,  fir  trees  rise, 
Where  rapturous  thrushes  pour  from  silver 

bells 

Unrivalled  sound,  with  wild  anguish  sweet, 
Into  the  deep  wet 
Fragrance  of  fern  dells  ? 


48 


SONG 

A  S  the  foam  is  to  the  sea 
"^     Breaking  forth  exultantly; 
As  the  morning  star  to  dawn 
Over  some  dusk-scented  lawn,  .  .  . 
You  are  to  me. 

Life  and  duty  round  me  close 
While  the  dull  time  comes  and  goes- 
You  are  then  its  poetry. 

As  the  red  that  burns  the  west, 
Leaps  to  flame  within  my  breast, 
You  are  but  an  ecstasy. 


49 


THE   MIDNIGHT  MOON 

away  are  the  stars, 
But  the  watchful  moon 
Sees  the  hills  sloping  down  to  the  dusky  bay, 
While  the  young  waves  sing  and  clap  their  hands 
In  the  shining  pools  of  the  quiet  sands, 
Adorned  in  feathery  spray. 
She  listens  alone 
To  the  orchestras 
Through  the  dark  forever  at  play; 
She  guards  the  silent,  white  ships  that  pass 
On  their  lingering,  coastwise  way, 
Till  folded  in  harbors  of  sleeping  towns 
Like  sheep  that  are  gathered  from  fragrant  downs, 
Like  sheep  at  the  end  of  day; 
And  only  at  intervals  now  and  then 
Is  her  watch  espied  by  mortal  men. 


UNTRAMMELLED 

1  I  HHE  children  laugh  and  play  and  sing 

Upon  the  beach  at  noon, 
While  careful  nurses  wait  to  bring 
Them  home  from  play  too  soon : 

But  there  is  one  small  elfin  maid 
Who,  when  the  rest  are  gone, 

Still  ever  boldly  unafraid 
In  careless  mirth  plays  on. 

She  steps  into  the  shallow  pools 
Throughout  the  shining  day, 

And  startles  little  fish  in  schools 
That  circle  in  their  play; 

Free  as  the  wind  that  crests  the  wave, 

Or  any  lone  sea  bird 
That  haunts  the  cliffs  wild  waters  lave, 

Remote  from  human  word. 

Oh,  happy  child,  so  blithely  free 
While  trammelled  hosts  are  gone, 

Alone  with  earth  and  sky  and  sea 
In  careless  mirth  play  on. 


ESCAPE 

T  AM  tired  of  their  chatter 
•*-     And  their  talk  of  things,  things, 
And  I  seek  alone  the  salt  wave 
Where  the  day  springs. 

While  the  morning  sea  is  breaking 
On  the  clean,  washed  sand, 

And  the  pied  flowers  are  making 
A  garden  of  the  land. 

And  there  I  lie  and  dream 

With  the  sunlight  on  my  brow, 

While  I  wonder  if  you  too 
Are  dreaming  now. 


A  MOOD 

CULTRY  and  hot  was  the  night, 

Dimly  and  pale  shone  the  moon 
Through  the  soft  heat  haze, 
When  suddenly,  as  hounds  from  the  leash, 
Sprang  the  winds 

As  if  from  the  four  corners  of  heaven. 
Howling  and  moaning  they  came, 
Lashing  the  sea  into  foam, 
Sweeping  the  glens  with  their  might. 
Like  witches  they  seemed,  at  a  feast; 
Distorted,  mis-shapen,  malign,  evil  fore 
boding. 

"In  spite  of  September's  flower-wreathed 

face," 
I  heard  them  say, 

"Summer  is  gone,  winter  now  is  at  hand, 
Bringing  her  friends, 
Hunger  and  cold,  disease  and  death." 


53 


A  PROTEST 

TN  the  dust  of  my  travel 

•*•     I  think  of  the  bay 

With  its  immaculate  waters, 

And  flowers  and  sedge, 

Like  the  purple 

And  gold  of  heather  and  furze 

Staining  the  brown 

Of  the  hills  sloping  down 

To  its  edge. 

And  I  wonder  if  you  too 

Rebel 

When  you  see 

The  grime  and  dirt 

Brought  by  those  who  dwell 

In  cities,  careless  and  inert 

Of  smirch  and  soil,  .  .  . 

Eager  alone  in  their  toil 

For  wealth, 

Forgetting  man's  true  self 

And  his  unquenchable 

Thirst  for  beauty. 


54 


IMPRESSION 

T    IKE  a  shaft  of  light  upon  a  prism  sundered, 

Falling  on  the  pages  of  my  open  book 
In  a  shower  of  rays,  scintillating,  darting, 
Suddenly    there    breaks    your    well-remembered 
look. 

First  in  quiet  depths,  like  autumn  pools  at 

evening, 

It  dares  to  plumb  the  mystery  of  life  and  death; 
Then  it  sparkles  like  the  snow  in  Alpine  sunlight 

gleaming, 
With  the  early  morning's  opalescent  breath. 

It  is  attuned  to  magic  woodland  ways  and 

whispers, 
It  dances  with  the  light  and  dark  of  silvery 

beechen  shade, 
It  softens  with  the  droning  of  bees  in  scented 

clovers 
On  the  sloping  hillside  or  in  open  glade. 

It  wakens  the  echo  of  the  measured  cadence 
Across  the  moonlit  hollows  of  the  salt,  far-sound 
ing  sea, 

Beating  endless  mu°ic  into  listening  caverns 
Of  old-world  sorrows  and  others  yet  to  be. 


55 


Impression 

Not  foreign  to  its  steady,  slowly  burning  fires, 

The  thought  of  incense-laden,  languorous  tropic 
nights, 

Yet  dominant  in  expression,  it  is  mystical,  in 
tangible, 

Like  flaming  altar  candles  or  far-off  northern 
lights. 


SPIRIT  WINDS 

SPIRIT  winds  blow  over  me 
And  they  are  not  unkind,  . 
Yet  they  make  a  strange  place 
Of  my  mind. 

I  have  waked  this  morning 
To  find  it  swept  and  bare 

Of  every  ardent  feeling 
I  have  known  there. 

Autumn's  varied  pageant, 
Or  spring's  first  timid  flower, 

Brings  to  me  no  color 
In  this  hour. 

Even  when  I  think  of  you 

I  am  cold  still, 
As  the  glittering  crust  of  snow 

On  a  lone  hill. 


57 


TO  J.  L.  W.,  JR. 


recently 

You  passed  before  us  on  the  prow 
Of  your  frail 
Boat,  with  sail 

Outstretched  behind  you,  returning 
Home  upon  a  summer  sea, 
The  morning  sunlight  resting 
On  your  brow, 
And  burnishing 
Your  hair  to  gold, 
Who  could  have  then  foretold 
Your  passing  now? 
And  yet, 

All  clothed  in  shining  white, 
Your  body  like  a  thing  of  light 
Seemed  charged  with  strange,  unearthl) 

purity, 

When,  indelible  as  an  impress  set 
Upon  an  ancient  Grecian  urn, 
Age-long  youth  and  beauty  met 
In  your  return. 


158J 


WHEN  YOU  ARE  TIRED  OF  THE  DAY 

WHEN  you  are  tired  of  the  day 
And  all  its  dull,  grey  commonplace, 

I  like  to  feel  in  dreams  you  may 
Sometimes  see  my  face; 

And  think  of  me  with  poetry, 
Or  evening  light  upon  the  hills, 

With  morning  breaking  on  the  sea 
And  all  that  in  your  soul  instils 

A  deeper,  livelier  feeling  .... 

That  thus  amid  your  hurrying  stress, 
I  may,  with  radiance  o'er  you  stealing, 

Dispel  your  weariness. 


59 


BEYOND  THE  CITY  LIGHTS 

T>EYOND  the  city  lights 
-*-*     The  stars  are  dimly  shining, 
Like  unhappy  ghosts 
Alone  and  repining. 

I  think  of  island  fields 

Grey-green  with  moonbeams, 
And  of  midnight  waters  breaking 

On  the  shores  of  my  dreams. 

But  far  off  as  the  stars — 
Oh,  farther  than  the  sea — 

In  my  loneliness  of  spirit 
You  seem  now  to  be. 


60 


UNDERTOW 

1"  TPON  the  dim,  veiled  threshold  of  my  life 

I  listened  to  a  nocturne,  while  without 
In  darkness,  over  wild,  out-jutting  cliffs, 
The  passionate,  strong  waves  beat  ceaselessly. 
I  felt  entranced  by  witchery  of  sound, 
For  in  the  music's  rapturous  cadences 
Were  strange,  sweet  whisperings  of  joys  un 
dreamed, 

And  yet,  recurrent,  haunting  notes  of  pain 
And  sorrow,  wailed  through  plaintive  minor 

chords 

Like  sad,  tumultuous,  pealing  echoes  from 
The  ever  sobbing,  human-hearted  sea.  .  .  . 

Many  years  are  gone,  and  once  again 
I  listen  to  the  nocturne,  now  beside 
The  blue  and  copper  of  a  wood  fire's  burning; 
And  while  I  dream,  the  music's  harmonies 
In  my  own  life  all  seem  fulfilled,  with  here 
And  there  an  undertone  of  sadness,  but 
Ever  uppermost  the  joy.     And  yet, 
While  restless  waves  of  northern  seas  are  far 
Away,  my  thoughts  fly  forward  to  the 
Ocean  of  eternity.     But  still,  with  such 
A  calm  as  that  which  broods  on  cool,  grey  sands 
At  evening,  when  gleaming  jewels  shine 
And  sparkle  through  the  ever-curling  spray, 
As  if  some  casket  from  the  fabled  east 


61] 


Undertow 

Had  lent  its  splendor  to  the  alluring  sea, 
And  distant  sails  high-colored  from  the  west 
Lie  strewn  in  paths  of  light, — in  confidence 
I  rest  in  that  great  Power 
Who  rules  the  mighty  waters  at  His  will. 


62] 


THE   WHITE  LILAC 

T  GAZED  upon  a  shower  of  wet, 

White  bloom, 
Against  a  wall 
Of  living 
Green, 

And  felt  the  thrill 

Of  silent  growing  things  that  spring 
From  out  the  sheer  depths  of  unseen 
Eternal  beauty: 
Yet 

An  artist's  room, 
Grey  with  December's  chill, 
Approaching  night, 

My  vision  bound.     The  rapture  that  en 
thralled  me 

Rose  from  master  strokes  of  life  and  light 
Irradiating  all 
The  twilight's  gloom. 


RETROSPECT 

"V7"OU  came  to  me  so  young  and  strong, 

So  bold  and  free, 

You  swept  the  tides  of  youth  along 
As  the  west  wind  sweeps  the  sea. 

Together  we  have  met  life  fearlessly, 
Much  have  we  dared; 
Whatever  yet  may  be, 
Gladly  we  have  fared. 


64 


WINTER  NIGHT 

OOLDLY  astride  the  winter  night 

Stands  Orion,  armed  and  bright, 
As  of  old  in  Syrian  skies, 
Watched  by  Job  with  wondering  eyes. 


COMPENSATION 

V\/'HEN  I  think  of  the  verse  I  have  left 

unsaid, 

And  the  many  books  I  have  not  read, 
I  am  seized  with  dismay, 
For  so  much  of  life  has  burned  away. 

But  when  I  recall*  the  moment  after? 
The  merry  lips  and  happy  laughter 
That  have  flamed  each  day, 
I  am  glad  of  life's  insistent  way. 


66 


BEAUTY 

OEAUTY,  you  are  inviolate,  .  .  . 
I  cannot  clasp  you  as  my  own; 
I  am  content  to  consecrate 
My  soul  to  you,  unknown. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


ID 

URL 


lECTD  LO-URl 

Y  is 

JN  0  5  19 


000  925  681     9 


DO  NOT  REMOVE 
THIS  BOOK  CARD 


University  Research  Library 


